“Baby,” she whispered, “Ryan?”
He couldn’t fight back a groan. He wanted so desperately to keep up the charade, but his conscience wouldn’t allow it.
“No…” he moaned the word out.
If she opened her eyes now…
“Oh! Oh, god, I want you so badly,” she whimpered, twisting beneath him. “Please … please… I just …” She arched her back, splaying herself open to him. There was no invitation he craved more.
“Please …” The word was drawn out like a dying moan, yet he feared that if he answered her plea, it might just be the death of her. He hooked her knees over the crooks of his elbows, hovering over her, her core spread open like a welcoming harbor. When he tensed the muscles of his thighs, he could feel the tip of his cock touching that wet place … softly, so softly …
“God! I need …”
“It’s ok…” he whispered, not sure what he was trying to reassure her of. His lips closed over hers, tongue dipping between them…despite his intimate knowledge of her, this was their first kiss – so sweet, the innocence of it shook him. She sighed, and he caught her breath in his mouth, feeling that sigh deepen into a moan as he tightened his core muscles, arching his hips forward to slide his cockhead between the folds of her pussy. There had been times when he’d been in similar situations and brought all his skills to bear upon his women – knowing they would be devastated by the effect. Now, it had to be he alone who made her writhe, he needed to prove that he could do this to her. Xander, the man…not some depraved sex demon.
Just let her open her eyes now…
He cast a glance to the mirror alongside them, transfixed by the image of her hands on his body. The sight of her nails grazing the hard muscles of his back was almost as arousing as the sensation they created. He tilted his hips further, allowing the throbbing tip of his shaft to stop at the mouth of her pussy, to slide in a fraction of an inch. Her teeth sank into his shoulder, hard enough to draw blood – if he had any. He would have chuckled if he hadn’t been so intensely focused on the minute movements of his hips.
“Minx!” he taunted her, withdrawing slightly. She whimpered a protest. Her hands slid to his hips, closing over the roped muscles of his ass, nails biting down. She arched her body, chest heaving.
“For god’s sake, please! You’re driving me mad. Fuck!” she cursed through clenched teeth, nails raking down his flanks. “Just…fuck me already!” Her body arched again.
And she opened her eyes…and enveloped him.
The next thing he knew, he was plunging into that hot well of clutching warmth. He grunted with the force of it, almost afraid she might shatter, but her response was pure lust.
“Yes!” she shouted out, bucking beneath him, nails raking red welts along the length of his back. Any ideas he’d harbored of tenderness were shattered by the force of her response – at that moment, he realized that he might be the one with the cock, but she was the one fucking him. The sense of relinquishing control was both terrifying and exhilarating as he rode the wave of her pleasure. He marveled at the demure façade she presented to the world every day when this was what lurked beneath the surface.
Arms twined around his head, fingers tangled in his hair, her own golden curls clung damply to both their sweat-damp skin. She lifted her face to his neck and sucked at his skin, licking the sweat that ran down his throat. He felt her teeth graze him and shivered, jerking when she sank them into the flesh above his collarbone. He growled in approval, thrusting deeper into her, loving the mixture of pleasure and pain. The rhythm was uncoordinated, but the ripples of her tight channel were so intense he could barely focus, let alone steady his movements.
“Oh god, there, yes! Right there!” She arced up and ground herself against him, stomach muscles tense, straining with the exertion of getting closer, drawing him deeper. The sensations were becoming overwhelming, even though he held back, not wanting it to end…still afraid of what might happen if he lost control—
“Yes!” Her shout of pleasure hit him like a physical blow, he almost felt her suck the air from his lungs. Never had he made love to a woman who lost herself so completely to the sensations of sex. Even when he’d amplified the moments with his inhuman skills, most would cling to some attempt at restraint. Rebecca was wanton on a primal level. Now, as the force of her orgasm rocked him over the edge, he lunged into her, muscles straining down his back, biceps tensed as he raised his body over hers. In that instant, he glanced up, caught their reflection, lovers writhing, thrashing, hot flesh intertwined. As the waves washed over him, his eyes glowed red. The demon and the man released within her, and in an instant, he knew something had changed.
Something had been created.
***
Rebecca gazed at him, at a loss for words. This stranger connected so intimately with her, who’d brought her so much pleasure. Who was he? What was he? What was he doing in her bed? In her body? How had he come to be here? His eyes were glowing…red. For a moment, her breath caught in her throat.
“You’re not Ryan!” she exhaled the words. He froze, arms still banded. He remained absolutely still, lips parted, breath heaving.
“No,” he conceded, not bothering to continue the façade that had hidden him from her all this time. “No. I’m not Ryan.” Her eyes widened as she took in the planes of his face, hawkish nose, sharp jut of jawline, the dark wave of hair that clung to his damp brow. The red glow of his eyes faded, darkened, his stare intense. No trace of the tousle-haired boy-next-door she’d had in her mind’s eye. She drew in a shuddering breath, her body still humming with the pleasure that had wracked it moments before.
‘He’s not Ryan,’ her mind raced. But if she was honest with herself, she knew that. Had known it all along. Probably since the start. Her sweet fiancé had touched her with a tenderness that was almost frustrating. This…man…this creature …he devoured her, possessed her, filled her to the point of explosion. When he’d come to her tonight, she’d wallowed in the dream, but deep down, she’d known. Could tell from the firmness of his hands, the sureness of his touch…the scent of him – like smoke and heat and musk. And then, at that moment when they joined, as he had slid into her, spread her, engulfed her as surely as she engulfed him…she knew he wasn’t Ryan. Yet she hadn’t resisted, she’d embraced him completely.
‘The point of no return,’ she thought. It was a phrase she’d read in countless romance novels and considered it ridiculous. Tonight she’d reached it. She would have stopped breathing before she chose not to have this man inside her.
But was tonight really when she’d reached that point? If he’d come to her weeks ago, she would have had the same reaction, she was sure of it. Even though he was not Ryan.
“Ryan is dead,” she whispered the words out loud. His eyes flashed to hers. So dark, so intense. There was something utterly other-worldly about him. It was why she hadn’t been horrified at finding a strange man in her bed. This wasn’t some crazed stalker who’d climbed through the window. Without a shadow of a doubt, she knew he was no ordinary human. She couldn’t quite understand why her first encounters with him had made her think so clearly of her lost lover, but she knew that he’d been the one all along.
“Ryan is dead,” she repeated.
He gave an almost imperceptible nod. “Yes,” his voice barely a murmur. “Yes, Ryan is dead.”
She bit back a tiny sob, a hot little tear escaping and trickling onto her cheek. He reached up and brushed it with his thumb, taking it to his lips and tasting the saltiness of it. His eyes echoed a sorrow so deep it was as if he could feel her pain.
“How…?” her question hung in the air. ‘How what?’ she asked herself. ‘How did he get here? How did he know about Ryan? How did he invade my dreams?’ She could barely understand what was happening to her, let alone the right questions to ask. Everything she considered voicing seemed utterly incomprehensible. Ridiculous. If she’d tried to explain this situation to anyone she knew, she’d be committed.
“Get off me,” she whispered, suddenly acutely aware of the intimacy of their situation. He rolled off her and turned on his side to face her, so close their breath mingled.
“How…” she continued with her first question, “how did you get in here. Who are you?” She rubbed a hand over her face, fearing that his answers would leave her with more confusion. “What are you?” Her voice shook, her eyes accusing.
He reached a hand towards her then dropped it, letting it rest on the bed between them. The urge to draw her close, clutch her to his chest, was overwhelming, but that would never work now.
“I am cursed,” he replied flatly.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” she demanded. “That’s not a fucking answer. For weeks you’ve come to me. Touched me. Made me believe…” She shuddered, words faltering. “Are you even human?”
“I was.” His response was barely audible.
“Was? Was what? You’re not making any sense!” Her color was rising, breath coming sharply. He knew this had to come to a head.
“I was human. Once. Years ago. Thousands of years ago …” He paused, then continued with more firmness. “I was Anaxandridas the Second, son of Leon, father of Dorius, Leonidas, Cleombrotus, Cleomenes. Before my…death…I was king of Sparta.” Her mouth dropped open, and she shook her head, disbelief clouding her features.
“Leonidas? Like in the movie? Are you kidding me?” She bit back bitter laughter.
He stiffened. “No, not like the movie. It was nothing like that at all, we were—” He rubbed a hand over his eyes, sighed, then continued. “I was Spartan. Now though, you would call me…an incubus.” She blinked in disbelief, raised a hand to her mouth.
“Bullshit! What an absolute load of shit!” Her voice had risen sharply, an edge of rage tinged with hysteria. “A demon lover who drains the life from his victims?” It was a sneer. “There’s no such thing.”
“The stories are not…accurate,” he interjected.
“Oh, really? You’re expecting me to believe that you’ve snuck into my bed and…molested me,” she spat the words, and he flinched, “because you’re a motherfucking demon?” The words seemed more obscene coming from her; he’d never heard her curse, never seen her so enraged.
“Yes,” was his simple reply. “And you are my salvation.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Salvation!” Her cheeks were flushed. She clutched her hands over her breasts as if trying to shield herself from him. He resisted the urge to glance down at her white knuckles, focusing on keeping her gaze.
“I was not—” he stopped, searching for the right words. “I was not a good man. Not by ‘Christian’ standards. Not by anyone’s standards, really. I led my men to victory…led my people to power. But it was a path that doomed my immortal soul, I suppose you might say.” She shook her head, finally speechless, not understanding.
“I can’t explain with words. I can see you won’t believe it until I show you. Will you let me show you?” His voice was hesitant, not the tone of a bloodthirsty leader of men. For a moment, her eyes searched his face, recognized the sincerity there. The desperation. She licked her lips, nodded slightly.
“Yes.”
He reached for her hand, jaw clenching as she winced. He persisted, uncurling her fingers and pressing her palm over his chest, letting her feel the steady beat there. He rested his own hand over her heart and leaned forward until their foreheads almost brushed, adjusting his breath to mirror hers.
“Focus,” he murmured, “just breathe and focus on me.” As he slowed his breath, she inadvertently slowed hers too, tension easing from her. He watched as she began to still herself, pupils dilating as their eyes locked. Then she blinked once and gasped.
***
Rebecca’s mind reeled in horror. One moment they were lying face to face, almost touching, then she felt herself sinking into his eyes. A moment of darkness as she blinked and a blinding flash when she opened her eyes and found herself careening into a swirling abyss of images, sounds, smells. It was overwhelming. Metallic clanging, men cursing, screaming, the cloying stench of sweat and blood, the cries and bellows of beasts of war. She could taste it, could feel her skin singe as flames licked up walls and fields burned, limbs dismembered, bodies disemboweled.
A blinding swirl of faces spun around like some vast panoramic screen. In the center of it all, he stood, a towering sword-wielding taut-muscled monster of a man, swinging mercilessly at bodies, skin coated in a sheen of mud and blood. The images continued to bombard her, faces emerged, contorted with fear, pain…
And then, as if from nowhere, a dark-eyed woman with a gentle smile, a straight-backed little boy, face beaming with pride, a wriggling infant with pudgy, reaching fingers— That tiny body lying limp and lifeless, blood pumping from a gaping chest wound.
The mud-coated fiend spun to face her, a gore-coated blade clenched in his fist, a cloak the color of the blood at his feet billowed around him. The images of horror resumed their dizzying flurry. Their eyes locked. Him.
She choked, and the world went black.
***
When Rebecca’s eyes opened, he was gazing down at her. He’d laid her back against the pillows, pulled the covers up to her shoulders. She shook her head, mouth dry.
“You were…a monster.” Her voice broke. His expression remained set, but at the edge of his jaw, a muscle twitched.
“Yes.”
“How could you do those things? Those people were—” She stopped, shuddering as the images swept over her again. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. Even without looking at him, she pictured him surrounded by swirling burning motes of dust…the charred remains of homes and humans alike.
“It was what we did. Who we were,” he said simply. “We were warriors. The best the world has ever known.”
“But the torture! The suffering. Why?” She shuddered again. He started to shrug and then thought better of it. The movement felt too flippant.
“We crushed our enemies. And everyone not of our world was our enemy. That was our way. Weakness was not tolerated. Weakness would attract the enemy.” He remained impassive.
“And that woman? The children? The baby—” Her voice broke.
“Wife, daughter, son. I had four sons.” His voice stayed clipped, but for a moment, his expression softened.
“Did they die?” she asked bluntly.
“Eventually,” he answered, “as we all do. But she and I had a long marriage. My sons became great warriors, kings…” He trailed off.
“What happened to the baby?”
“She was not for us.” He looked away.
“What do you mean??” She couldn’t let go.
“Taken.”
“Taken by whom? Soldiers?”
“Priests.”
“Why on earth did priests take your daughter? What did you do to your baby?” her voice rose a pitch.
He turned and faced her. “Ours was a rigid culture, one steeped in mysticism and religion. We were on the verge of war. I was leading my men into battle – it had been months since we’d felt the warmth of our home fires. The council of Sparta determined that the gods required…a sacrifice to assure our victory. They took the child.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “You let them take your baby as a sacrifice? Dear god!”
He looked away. “I had no power over it. I was not there. But she never forgave me. My wife. Even though we lived our days out together and she remained my queen, she never forgot. One day she told me that when they took our child, she’d cursed me and prayed I’d head for eternal damnation. She was right. And here I am. Of all the things I’ve done, that was what damned me.” He rubbed his face. “She was so innocent. So sweet.” His mind spun back to those awful hours…
His wife had sent word, was anxious. No, not anxious, she was hysterical with fear.
“Please, we need you! Please help!” The messenger had delivered the note and emphasized the anxious state
of his queen.
When he’d got to her, the priests had been there. His daughter was gone. His wife knelt in a patch of sand stained with blood that had soaked into the fabric of her clothing and dried. Crusted and stiffened. Her fingers curled into that stiff, dried blood as if she was still clinging to the hands of her child. Fingers that curled and released as if of their own accord. As if she no longer had control of her body.
He couldn’t determine how long she had been there waiting for him to come to their rescue. How long it had been since the priests had been.
But the blood was dry.
He remembered how she’d stared at him as he rushed to her side, dropped to his knees in the dirt next to her. There was a blankness to her eyes that filled him with dread.
“Where were you?” Her words were almost inaudible, lips dry and cracked as if her tears had robbed the moisture from her body. Her eyes had roamed over his face, but not with love.
Accusing him.
He had no words of explanation. What was there to say? He’d known what they had planned to do.
“They took her. Where were you?” And then she buckled over, dropped to the bloodied sand around her, gathering great armfuls of it towards herself, as if trying to hold her lost infant to her chest. Pressed her cheek into the red-black mud and sobbed.
He’d reached a hand to her hunched shoulders, tried to stroke her, offer comfort. She’d shrugged him away, so he’d simply sat there, surrounded by his rich, red cloak – the trappings of his office – just as she was surrounded by the pool of dark, drying red blood.
And he knew she was lost to him as much as their daughter was. Both were gone.
Without realizing it, King Anaxandridas the Second, mighty leader, fearsome warrior, had lost his soul that day.
***
He stopped, swallowing hard. “And that was all roughly three and a half thousand years ago. Now, I’m out of time, and I need you.”
“How could I possibly help?” Her mind still reeled at what she’d learned.
“My mission has been to atone,” he went on. “When the Council of Ten reviewed my case, they believed that while I may have done terrible things, I was never a truly evil man. But of course, there’s no way I could ever achieve peace without truly understanding how wrong I’d been.”
Saved By Her (Soul Searchers Book 1) Page 10
